gordon nosworthy

Getting Lost Poem by gordon nosworthy

I packed all my stuffstuffed it in my backpackwalked into the woodsintending to camp out until I finally understood

putting up the tent for the duration was easypegs and poles mostly simple questionsanyone at all could pose& they sometimes did& sometimes didn’t

the mosquitoes made it difficult but not impossiblethey appeared as if by magic drew bloodleft little trails of haemoglobin& small injuryin their wake as they moved from limb to limbbut never amounted to more than irritationI ignored them as best I could

the little blood loss here and there no problemthe fresh smell of smoke promising a firemade the camping seem more real more present more in the woodsleft me wondering why I was always cold

that was quite some time agoI woke this morning with the smoke blown offthe camp fire soggy never really litthe wine gone but the food still packed as if awaiting some auspicious moment

the bites festering drainingthe ground saturated in much used arterial & fecal matterI think it’s winter nowdeep in what appears to be snow ice and windinhospitable climate where nothing grows except the blizzard

I tried to decipher the moon& failedthe moon told stories that were way over my headI got lost searching for lightchased shadows& wild dogs wolves feral cats magnificent womenthe thoughts of wild men

you’d think I would have learned my lesson some time agowhen the rain turned icy& the first snow fell: the more directions we believewe know for surethe more lost we have become